"My father's getting involved," Lorenzo says, low and sour.

Lorenzo and Marco are in the back room of Vittorio's, the family restaurant that's been laundering money since before either of them were born. The sea is visible through the small, high window—just a sliver of grey-blue. And here the two of them sit, hulking shadows at a corner table meant for four, espresso cups looking like toys in their hands.

Marco leans back in his chair, legs spread and one arm slung over the back of the empty chair beside him. He just lets out a loose chuckle, amused more than concerned. "Well," he drawls, plucking up a sugar cube packet, "if Don Vittorio's sticking his nose in, you've officially fucked around too far."

Lorenzo exhales smoke through his nose. "It's my spouse," he grumbles, sour.

"Sure it's not the other dozen you're fucking?" Marco tears the packet open with one hand and drops the cube into his espresso. He's already reaching for the next. "You keep collecting lovers like trading cards, don't get surprised when one of them thinks they're rare."

"Fuck off," Lorenzo says with zero heat. "Spouse is already a headache without you adding to it."

Marco hums. Drops another cube into his cup. "I'm just saying, Lucia started acting like she's already wearing the ring. Can't blame your spouse for being pissed."

Lorenzo doesn't answer. Just stares out at the water like it'll give him a solution he hasn't already tried. Marco stirs his drink with slow precision, the spoon clinking gently against the porcelain cup.

"I don't know how to deal with my father."

Marco shrugs, sips. "Don Vittorio could be on his deathbed covered in rosary beads and I'd still piss myself if he frowned at me."

"Very comforting."

"Trying my best." Marco smiles wide enough to show a hint of teeth. "You've made your bed. Now you gotta lie in it."

Lorenzo scoffs. "That's rich coming from you."

Marco's eyes flick up from his cup. "Meaning?"

"Meaning people are realizing that you're sniffing around a Verscari." Lorenzo leans forward slightly. "Don't play dumb, you're not cute. I know it's Lucifer .”

Marco's eyes flick up from his cup. "I don't know what you're talking about."

“They're the enemy, Marco. You gotta stop before it's too late.”

Marco doesn't flinch. He just takes one last sip and sets the cup down with a soft clink. The smile doesn't move from his mouth, but it's gone from his eyes completely.

"They're not the enemy."

"They're a Verscari."

"The only problem is their last name." He leans back again. "Once they take mine? Problem solved."

Lorenzo glares. "It's not that easy."

Marco's smile widens. It's not kind. "Sure it is."

"This isn't funny anymore."

"It was never a joke." Marco's voice drops, goes flat. Dead serious. "I meant what I said about making them my spouse."

Lorenzo exhales hard through his nose. "Ever asked them how they feel about it?"

"They'll come around." Marco shrugs like

it's nothing. Like it's already decided.

Lorenzo just stares at him. The silence stretches long enough that Marco glances up, one brow raised in question.

"You'll get yourself fucking killed," Lorenzo finally hisses. "Worse—you'll get them killed. You think this is a game? The second anyone sees you with them—”

"Anyone who lays a fucking finger on what's mine won't live long enough to regret it." Marco's voice is low now. Flat. Dangerous. "Let them try."

"Anyway, if you're done preaching, I've places to be."

"Marco—"

He's already gone.

The bell above the café door jingles when Marco enters. The place smells like espresso and he knows—knows—they're here before he even sees them. He doesn't look around like some desperate idiot. He walks straight to the back, where the light's softer and the tables are smaller, and there they are.

Fuck.

His heart doesn't skip. It slams. Like a fist against his ribs. Like a fucking battering ram. He hasn't seen them in days—interacted, really. He's seen them without them being aware—but his body doesn't care. It feels like a goddamn eternity. So long, he's missed them like a madman. he sits next to luc